


After the kingfisher's wing

by theherocomplex



Series: Distant Shores and Voices [12]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3365387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/pseuds/theherocomplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tells himself this is the best he could hope for, that when the truth inevitably is revealed -- for truth such as his will not be trapped in silence forever -- she will look at their stolen moments, and be thankful she did not fall to a greater folly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the kingfisher's wing

Solas has not been entirely honest with the Inquisitor. He has not _lied_ , though neither has he told the truth, and it is this omission that makes him hold himself apart from her. 

He desires her, longs for her, and yet he must not bridge this chasm. She must remain ignorant, he must remain at a distance. 

So Eylis comes to his study but rarely, and he is chosen to follow her on her wanderings less and less. Solas cannot blame her. He hurt her with his careful dance around her, and it is only a matter of time before she finds comfort and joy in another. 

Indeed, he realizes she already has when he sees the pirate come down the stairs from Eylis's quarters, stretching her limbs like a cat and grinning into the sun. And he is glad, then, that he resisted the urge to touch Eylis's dreams, for she does not dream of him anymore, if ever she did. He tells himself this is the best he could hope for, that when the truth inevitably is revealed -- for truth such as his will not be trapped in silence forever -- she will look at their stolen moments, and be thankful she did not fall to a greater folly. 

Solas pretends not to hear her laughter as she walks through the halls of Skyhold. He tells himself that he is saving her -- from a broken heart, from idle gossip, from self-recrimination. He tells himself many things, and waits for the day she will come to hate him. 

It approaches, of that Solas is sure, but a dragon finds them first. 

*** 

He hears her scream -- not a shout of alarm or mere pain, but _agony_ , the scream boiling out of her, unending, rising above all other sounds until it is all he can comprehend. 

"Boss!" roars the Bull. He swings his axe to clear a path through the smaller dragons, but there are too many, each one knife-clawed and with teeth like needles, and he cannot get through. Varric shouts something, but the words are lost as the dragon shrieks, and Eylis screams as if her lungs will burst. 

Only Solas can reach her; his barrier falters as his focus is divided, but he lets it shred itself to nothing as he runs. She is so close, just out of his range of vision, but every footstep feels like a league. He watches her fall to her knees, her hair fallen loose from its braids, and he smells the thick, greasy stench of burning flesh.

She cannot stop screaming, because she cannot stop _burning._  

Solas is no healer; he is a liar and a thief and a trickster, and even his name is not his own, but this is: this spell of ice and wind, and so he gives it to her, even as he runs to her side. It will be a new agony, he knows, fire replaced by ice, but it will not cause more damage. 

It will not _hurt_  her, and that is all he cares for. That her pain stops, that he can save her from a moment more of this torment. Dragon fire does not just burn, it eats, and when Solas reaches her side, he sees that the flames have made a meal of Eylis's staff, and of her right arm. Under his spell of ice, her flesh is black and ragged, except for where it has been burned away completely. 

She meets his eyes, her pupils blown wide in shock and pain, and her mouth works senselessly as she reaches for him with her left arm. 

"Hush," he whispers. "Do not move, do not try to speak. I will --" 

What will he do? 

"Solas, please," she begs, her gaze sliding away from him. " _Please._ " 

It is not right that he is the one to see her like this, he who has lied to her, he who caused her to be what she is -- even this pain is borne from his actions. But there is no one else who can help her, no other arms to catch her as she collapses, tears still wet on her cheeks. 

*** 

The dragon is dead. 

Varric tells him how the Bull nearly cleaved the beast's head in two with his final strike, and how the valley where they left its body is still burning. 

Solas does not blame the dragon; a part of him mourns it, for such a life is rare, and almost forgotten in certain places in this world. Someday, he thinks, only the Fade will echo with the sound of their wings. 

When he does not join in toasting its death, Varric slaps him on the arm.

"Get some rest, Chuckles," he says. "She'll be all right."  

They would not be celebrating if Eylis still lingered close to death, but the reassurance does not temper Solas's bitter regret. The spirit healer -- one of Fiona's closest confidantes -- saved Eylis's arm, and her life, though some time will need to pass before she regains her former strength. So they linger at Skyhold, and speak in whispers of how the Inquisitor has once more eluded death.

"I am not ready for sleep," Solas says. "I think I shall go for a walk." 

The look the dwarf gives him is somehow understanding, and once more, guilt gnaws at Solas's heart. They would be his friends, if he let them.

Friends are yet another gift he does not deserve.

*** 

The night is bitter-cold, as nights so often are in the mountains. Solas feels the cold, through his thin shirt and bare feet, but it does not trouble him. Neither heat nor ice pains him; would that he had been the one struck by the dragon's fire, and not Eylis. He could have played at mortality long enough to escape notice, and she would not be wrapped in linen and poultices, dreaming the fever dreams of those snatched back from death. 

No one else is out walking; they cluster indoors, near fires, where their laughter makes the candles brighter. He is alone, with only chill wind and the stars for company. 

The courtyard is deserted, and he may relax his hold on what he is, and feel again for a brief moment his power, his truth. 

He could leave, now, and let his departure become a drop in a sea of change. She will not notice his absence too soon; she will be preoccupied by healing, then by matters of state, then by another cry for help -- and he will be gone, to watch only at a distance. 

The gate is open. Ten steps, and he could be on his way, once more to be called a trickster and a betrayer -- though now, on a much more intimate scale. 

_Solas left_ , they will say. _In the middle of the night, left while she was sleeping. Always knew he was a dodgy one, not fit to look at the Inquisitor. What she saw in him..._

None of them will know the truth of her, no matter how much they gossip or whisper together, no matter how many times they throw themselves at her feet. He has walked her dreams, he has watched her sleeping, and in those moments he held her life, all that she is. They see the bud; he sees the bloom, and the thorns below. 

It does not matter what they will say when he leaves; she will think this the worst of his betrayals, and learn to hate him before all is revealed. 

A kindness. A sliver of charity, from one who should already be walking. 

Solas allows himself one look at her balcony, where a single dim light flares against the night sky, and sees Eylis standing at the railing, watching him. 

*** 

Her guards, the ones she insists she does not need, allow Solas passage without comment, and her door is open. 

Eylis stands before the fire, tossing in a handful of herbs. "A while ago, I asked you if we would have a problem," she says. She stares into the flames, and does not seem to notice that her robe has slipped from one shoulder, baring her bandaged arm and chest. "And then, things...happened, between us. I understand that people change their minds, that offense can be given without intention, but -- I would like to know if I've done something to hurt you, Solas." 

The small quaver in her voice, the wounded cast in her eyes -- these are the work of his smallest cruelty, the one no histories will record. She blames herself for his indifference, and faces her perceived crimes with generosity, with kindness. 

There are so few like her she might as well be singular. He once thought her greatest gift was her will, indomitable, implacable, but oh, how wrong he was. This is her gift: that she has such doubt in herself, such fear, and still strives to be better, kinder, stronger, braver. To Solas, the lives of her people are as light and sweet-smelling as the herbs she burns in her fire, and yet they created her, this slender creature, this willow sapling, this quiet river. 

She will die, someday, and before that day comes she will curse his name. He cannot touch her, he cannot cherish her so. And yet, he cannot stop himself. 

"The only offense given is mine," he says. "I beg you would forgive me. My coldness of late --" 

"This past year has taught me so much," Eylis interrupts. "I know I still have a lot to learn about...well, everything, but one thing hasn't changed." She looks at him then, her hair curled like vines around her face, her gaze green as moss and so young, she is _so young_  and someday she will be no more than a story, but she looks at him, and he is lost. 

There are tales, Solas realizes, to warn gods away from their creations, for creations fade and die and can be betrayed, and their gods always fail them. He failed her, long before her people began their wanderings, and still he loves her. 

"I still want you," she says, "but if you don't --" 

She falls silent as he crosses the room, and stays silent as he strokes her cheek, her throat, her lips. And she is warm under her robe, and warmer still when he carries her to bed. 

He has seen her under lights red as blood and white as bone, but never like this, with the fire casting shadows under her eyes and breasts, and along the curves of her hips. She laughs when he kisses the hollow of her throat, gasps when his hands find her breasts, cries out when he enters her, and then his voice joins hers. 

"Eylis," he says, nearly sobbing. "Eylis, forgive me." For making her wait, for making her doubt, for all that she has yet to learn. 

She laughs again, and tugs him down for a kiss -- a sweet kiss, slow and drugged. "Keep this up, and I'll forgive anything," she says. "Just -- don't stop. Oh, _Solas._ " 

Soft belly, warm thighs, small breasts smooth as seashells. She moves awkwardly under him, trying to match his rhythm, and finally surrendering all to him, her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes closed. 

She is so beautiful, a treasure, a dream of peace and warmth and love, and if this night were a dream Solas found in the Fade, he would never return to a waking life. 

He will lose her, all too soon, and never find her again. An eternity of searching will not be enough to bring her back to him once she is gone, for such as she will only be born once. There are so few moments left, her life a fragile thread, and though Solas should not allow himself such respite, though he should not pretend he deserves her forgiveness, he cannot help it. She is alive, she is here, and soon she will be no more than a song. 

But she is not a song yet, not tonight. So he bends his head to kiss her once more, and adds his laughter to hers, for a little while. 

 


End file.
